coffee for your head

          It was the afternoon, the time of the day as any. Only, it is raining cats and dogs - as they used to say - and the skies are gray you'd feel the heavy weight of all the rain that the clouds let go, yet you'd feel soothed at the same time. The raindrops strike the roof of the house very immensely as they did the mucky ground at the house's front. The roof sounded as if a million little stones were being poured consecutively from a source with unlimited space for those little stones. The raindrops.

          You could say the same for the mucky ground in front. It was dry in some days, when day was literally, well, "day", with the sun at its highest for almost the whole time from morning to afternoon that it makes you smell the scent of inviting dry ground, as if pushing you to play outside, out there under the sun, and come home sweaty and dirty, but with a smile on the face and happiness in the heart.

          But this wasn't one of those days. The continuous rain is expected to last longer than three weeks, and it's only been the seventh day of the month. The rain still poured hard,  and despite this, well

          a man went out the house, with a cup of coffee in his right hand.

          He finally decided to get out to have coffee in the front porch, that or go to bed whilst all this rain. Standing there just outside the door and in his porch, he looked around at all the rain, took a deep breath out of somewhat became a comforting scent of it, then sat at the wooden chair facing the house's front. It was only a meter from the door near a small round table  which he noticed got splashes of the rain on it, but only mildly. Good grief, he thought. 

          The grassless brown dirt that stretched miles away from the front and around his house was now really wet with rain, where he could've been playing with his wife while dancing, bathing in the rain. If only she was still here. 

          He slowly put the cup, which was only more than half full, down at the table. With his head embraced in his arms at the table, he sobbed and sobbed, blaming himself for not being able to give his wife the life he promised her. He's surrendered his SpeechFreedom and kidney just to have their last sacks of coffee, but even that didn't delay her death. At least for him, it's not yet too late.

          He lift his head, wiped away his tears and brought the cup near his nose. Ah, that scent. The scent of the last cup of the last ever resource that survived. And he's consuming it to postpone his death, relive a few moments then go to sleep.

          His head then opened in half with a metallic sound, and out came a mouth-shaped tipped hose.